


buried deep within

by myrmidryad



Series: still (mostly) human [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Grantaire Angst, Sad Grantaire, Werewolf Discrimination, Werewolf Grantaire, half-veela!enjolras, magical creature discrimination, werewolf!Grantaire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-26
Updated: 2013-11-26
Packaged: 2018-01-02 16:13:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1058890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myrmidryad/pseuds/myrmidryad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What am I going to do?” Grantaire dragged a chair out with a shaking hand and sank into it. “He knows the truth and <i>everyone’s</i> going to find out. Everyone’s going to know.” He was actually hyperventilating a little bit. He’d been so careful to keep his secret hidden, and the idea of everyone suddenly seeing him for what he really was was just too much to handle. It was the most frightening, horrifying thing in the world. He’d had <i>nightmares</i> about it, for god’s sakes. </p><p> </p><p>Bamatabois figures out that Grantaire's a werewolf, and Grantaire has to deal with the fallout.</p>
            </blockquote>





	buried deep within

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the song [Human](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MbCeyb9okac) by Daughter.
> 
> This follows on from underneath the skin but Grantaire and the others are in their fifth year now.

“I know what you are.” 

Grantaire ignored the inevitable stab of fear at the words and raised his eyebrows as he turned to face Bamatabois, an amused smile in place to counter the other boy’s smirk. “A really huge Celestina Warbeck fan? Because I can’t lie, that’s not exactly a secret.” 

Bamatabois sneered. “That’s funny.” 

“I’m hilarious, I know.” Grantaire shrugged, not exactly sure where this was going. “Did you have a point here? Because I was kind of on my way to something.” 

Bamatabois slid his hand into his pocket, fingering his wand, and Grantaire took half a step back, sliding his hand along his hip so he could grab his if he needed to. “I know what you are.” Bamatabois said again, grinning nastily. “ _Werewolf_.” 

A chill went down Grantaire’s spine, but he didn’t let it show. He couldn’t let it show. So he raised an eyebrow and pretended to relax. “Right, a werewolf, obviously. I’ve gotta say, that’s one I haven’t heard before. Kudos for originality.” 

“You can’t keep lying forever.” Disturbingly, Bamatabois’ smile hadn’t slipped at all, and Grantaire tensed again, the ever-present fear of discovery raising its head. “I know you’re a werewolf.” 

Grantaire rolled his eyes, making a good show of unconcern. “Right. You got proof of that?” 

“I don’t need it.” Bamatabois grinned. “The full moon’s in three days. And I bet I know where you _won’t_ be.” 

Grantaire felt a little queasy. “Where’s that?” 

“In the Entrance Hall, proving you’re totally human,” Bamatabois laughed. “Because you’ll be running round the forest as a wolf, howling at the moon and eating the local wildlife.” 

Grantaire stared at him, stomach contracting unpleasantly. Bamatabois knew. _How_ he knew wasn’t the issue right now, and Grantaire spoke without really thinking, sure he was being blackmailed. “What do you want?” 

Bamatabois started to back away, still grinning spitefully. “I just wanted to see your face,” he snickered. “I knew it was true. I can’t _wait_ to tell everyone.” 

Grantaire stepped forward and fought to keep his knees from buckling. “What do you want?” he asked again, desperation colouring his voice. Bamatabois just laughed and shook his head. Grantaire went for his wand, but Bamatabois was faster. 

“Impedimenta!” 

Grantaire staggered backwards and watched helplessly as Bamatabois turned the corner out of sight, leaving him unable to follow. He couldn’t go forwards, so – 

He turned and ran the other way, panicking. The empty transfiguration classroom was only a couple of corridors away, and he was early for the meeting. Enjolras, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Feuilly, and Joly were already there, and they stared when he slammed the door open and ran in, almost hyperventilating. “What’s the matter?” Joly recovered first, starting forward. 

Grantaire shook his head and dropped his bag, the reality of the situation beginning to unfold in front of him. “Bamatabois knows,” he managed to say. “He knows what I am. And he’s going to tell everyone, if he hasn’t already.” 

“Did this just happen?” Enjolras said sharply. Grantaire nodded, and Enjolras looked at Courfeyrac. 

“Could you get him?” 

“No problem,” Courfeyrac assured him darkly. 

“Okay. Grantaire, you have two options,” Enjolras said, stalking forward and standing in front of him, practically radiating purpose. 

“I do?” Grantaire grabbed the edge of a desk, sure he would collapse otherwise. 

“Either we hunt Bamatabois down and wipe his memory or you act first.” 

“That’s illegal,” Grantaire said without really thinking, and Enjolras narrowed his eyes. 

“I don’t care, and neither do you. _No one will know_ , Grantaire, that’s the point. What do you want to do?” 

“I don’t…” Grantaire shook his head, feeling everything he’d worked so hard to maintain crumbling down around him. “I don’t know, I can’t think!” 

Enjolras looked at Courfeyrac again. “Get him. Bind him, but don’t hurt him. Someone should go with you.” 

“I will,” Joly said, and he and Courfeyrac left without another word. 

“What am I going to do?” Grantaire dragged a chair out with a shaking hand and sank into it. “He knows the truth and _everyone’s_ going to find out. Everyone’s going to know.” He was actually hyperventilating a little bit. He’d been so careful to keep his secret hidden, and the idea of everyone suddenly seeing him for what he really was was just too much to handle. It was the most frightening, horrifying thing in the world. He’d had _nightmares_ about it, for god’s sakes. 

“You have options,” Enjolras repeated firmly. “They’re not great options, but you still have a choice.” 

“What were they again?” Grantaire asked his knees, studying his hands and noticing distantly that they were trembling. 

“We can wipe Bamatabois’ memory and the memory of anyone else he’s told. If the worst comes to the worst we can make a Polyjuice Potion and one of us can pretend to be you on a full moon. We can keep it secret. _Or_ , you can act first.” 

“What does that mean?” Grantaire asked, looking up at him nervously. 

“You can tell everyone yourself,” Enjolras said simply. 

“What?” Grantaire gasped. 

“Beat him to the punch,” Combeferre put in, nodding. “If you tell everyone before he gets the chance, he can only tell everyone afterwards that he’s known all along, and then he looks like an idiot and a liar.” 

“The best way to beat a bully is to reduce them to a laughing stock,” Feuilly agreed. 

“Like a boggart,” Combeferre smiled slightly, but Grantaire shook his head, fisting one hand in his hair. 

“I _can’t_. I can’t tell people, I…they’d…I can’t, I just can’t.” It was easy for them to say – they weren’t the ones who would be feared and hated and looked down on if they told the truth. 

“It’s your choice,” Feuilly told him. Grantaire looked back at Enjolras, gazing up at him in desperation. 

“What should I do?” 

Enjolras shook his head apologetically. “I can’t choose for you.” 

“What _would_ you do then?” 

Enjolras bit his lip and looked down for a moment before he met Grantaire’s gaze again. “I’d tell everyone before Bamatabois got the chance.” 

Grantaire swallowed and nodded, and Feuilly snorted. “Did you expect him to give any other answer?” 

“I don’t know what do to,” Grantaire whispered. To keep his secret or tell it? To force his friends to break the law for him or expose himself as a monster and ruin his life? “I don’t know what to do, I don’t…” He trailed off and bent over, squeezing his eyes shut as though he could pretend it was all a horrible dream. 

“You need to decide soon,” Combeferre said regretfully. “You have a very limited window here.” 

Grantaire lifted his head and looked up at Enjolras. “Can I talk to you for a minute?” _Alone_ went unspoken, but Combeferre and Feuilly understood anyway, getting up and going to the door. 

“We’ll make sure no one else comes in,” Feuilly said before they left, and Grantaire saw Enjolras give them a nod of thanks before grabbing a chair and pulling it round to sit opposite him. 

Grantaire took a few deep breaths before he spoke, addressing Enjolras’ feet. “You know about this stuff, right? You know…statistics, and things like that.” 

“Yes,” Enjolras said cautiously. 

Grantaire rubbed his hands together to try and conceal their shaking. “What would happen?” he asked falteringly. “If I…if people knew? If they found out?” 

Enjolras sat back slightly. “Realistically speaking?” 

“Yeah.” 

“You want…” Enjolras hesitated. “A list of pros and cons?” 

“Yeah,” Grantaire nodded jerkily. “Give it to me straight.” 

“What?” 

“Don’t sugar-coat it.” 

“Right. Okay.” Enjolras took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Con,” he said quietly. “People will turn on you. They’ll be unbearably cruel – they’ll call you names, talk about you behind your back and to your face, make up rumours about you, and generally try to make your life a living hell. They’ll hurt you, and it’ll be awful.” 

Grantaire sucked in a sharp breath and started jiggling his leg. “Awesome. That’s great.” 

“Con,” Enjolras went on in a low voice. “People will see you as a representative of all werewolves everywhere. You’ll be under a lot of pressure, and you’ll have a lot of responsibility.” 

“I don’t want it,” Grantaire whispered. 

“You won’t have a choice,” Enjolras said, not unkindly. “It’s not fair, and it’s not right, but it’s the truth.” He took a deep breath and continued. “Con: if you get angry or lash out, people will use that as justification for the worst stereotypes about you. Con: your family will…almost certainly be affected.” 

Grantaire let out a shuddery breath and lowered his head, lacing his fingers together and squeezing tight. 

“Con,” Enjolras sighed, “you might face prejudices from the teachers. You might have to work harder to get the same attention and grades as other students. Con: after leaving Hogwarts, your career options will be limited. People will hire less talented witches and wizards over you because you’re a werewolf. They’ll feel justified in treating you like less of a person, and if you protest, they’ll stigmatise you even more.” 

Grantaire was embarrassingly close to crying, and when he spoke, his voice was hoarse. “Are there _any_ pros?” 

“Yes.” Enjolras’ feet moved as he sat up straighter. “Pro: you take back the power. If you control the flow of information regarding your personal life, you’re the one in charge. If you accept it and don’t let anyone who wants to hurt you _know_ that they’re hurting you, you’ll be untouchable. Pro,” he sounded stronger, more sure of himself now. “You won’t have to live in fear of your secret being discovered. You won’t have to worry about letting people too close, or about making up excuses around the full moon. You won’t have to carry that burden all the time, and you’ll probably be much healthier because of it.” 

Grantaire snorted, but loosened the grip of his hands a little. 

“Pro,” Enjolras said, “you’ll have the chance to educate people. By the example you set, people will see that their prejudices and misconceptions are completely unfounded, and to dispel most of them you won’t even have to do anything. Pro: you’ll find out who the decent people are when they accept you and don’t treat you any differently, and everyone will get to see who the bigots are when they react badly. And the majority of your friends already know, so you already have a core group of supporters. The people who actually matter don’t care that you’re a werewolf.” 

Grantaire could hear the smile in Enjolras’ voice, and he closed his eyes, not sure if he was ready to deal with kindness at this point. 

“Pro: you get it over with early. The longer you leave this, the worse it will be if and when you either do decide to tell people or they find out for themselves. Pro…you’re not totally on your own.” Something in Enjolras’ voice made Grantaire look up, and he saw that Enjolras had mirrored his pose, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, hands clasped in front of him. “You don’t have to do this by yourself,” Enjolras said quietly, expression open and calm. “You’re not alone.” 

Grantaire looked down again, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “I have to do it, don’t I?” 

“You don’t have to do anything.” 

“It’s either this or Bamatabois,” Grantaire muttered, scrubbing his hands across his face. “Even if you do wipe his memory, he figured it out once; he can do it again. Or someone else will, and they probably won’t warn me first. I have to do it.” 

Enjolras sat back. “It’s up to you,” he said softly, and Grantaire wished he wasn’t being so nice, because that made it all so much worse. 

“I’m really fucking scared,” he breathed. “How am I supposed to do this? I’m not brave like you.” 

“I’ve never had to be brave about this,” Enjolras reminded him. “Everyone’s always known what I am. Whether you make this decision now or on your deathbed, it will still be a decision I’ve never had to make.” 

“Lucky you.” 

“It’s still your choice.” 

“Yeah.” Grantaire pushed his hands through his hair and bit his lip to try and stop it trembling. “People are going to treat me like…like…” 

“An animal,” Enjolras finished in an even voice. “Yes. At least at first.” 

Grantaire sniffed, hard, and sat up, falling against the back of his chair with enough force to rock it slightly off its front two legs. “I hate this,” he whispered. “I wish I’d never been bitten.” 

“You can’t change the past.” 

“Calm down, Rafiki,” Grantaire muttered. 

“What?” 

Enjolras’ expression was mystified, and the corner of Grantaire’s mouth twitched despite himself. “Forget it. It doesn’t matter.” He got up and walked towards the door, hesitated and walked back, then turned and walked over again, holding the handle for a moment before pulling it open. Combeferre and Feuilly had been joined by Cosette and Éponine, who’d obviously been told what was going on. 

“Well?” Éponine demanded. “What are you going to do?” 

“I’m…going to tell people,” Grantaire said haltingly, tripping over the words. Just saying it out loud in front of the others made the panic well up again, and he let go of the door handle and stumbled backwards. “I think I’m going to be sick.” 

Cosette walked forward and was suddenly hugging him, arms tight around his back and face pressed against his shoulder. The physicality and warmth of it was shocking, and Grantaire didn’t hug her back for a second, too surprised to react, but when he did he knew everyone could see his shoulders slump. Cosette felt it and squeezed him tightly, and he closed his eyes and swallowed a couple of times, curling his fingers into the fabric of Cosette’s robes and holding on. 

They didn’t care. Whatever anyone else thought or said or did, Enjolras was right – the people who really mattered already knew and were more than willing to help him. He had friends who didn’t give a shit that once a month he turned into a bloodthirsty monster. He had _friends_. 

It was more than he’d ever expected to gain, if he was honest with himself. Certainly more than he deserved. 

He pulled away reluctantly, feeling a lot less nauseated, and cleared his throat, looking at the others. “How should I do this?” he asked uncertainly. 

“Make a sign?” Éponine suggested, perching on a desk and crossing her legs. “Make some sort of public announcement?” 

“What, like standing on a table in the Great Hall and shouting ‘I’m a werewolf’?” Feuilly snorted. 

Grantaire cringed at the idea and backed up until he could sit on the edge of a desk, twisting his fingers together anxiously. 

“It’s not something that needs to be told, exactly,” Combeferre said slowly. “More like…just made general knowledge. We could put notices on the boards in the common rooms?” 

“That’s just another kind of announcement,” Cosette pointed out. 

“You could always go the official route,” Éponine shrugged, drumming her nails on the edge of her desk. “Get the teachers to circulate it.” 

“That’s actually not a bad idea,” Feuilly agreed. “You could ask them to do it sensitively – just a small announcement to a class at a time, nothing big or public.” 

“And that way you wouldn’t even have to tell anyone yourself,” Cosette added softly, looking at Grantaire, who nodded and stared down at his fingers, knuckles white with tension. 

“What if…” He paused to swallow, mouth to dry to speak clearly. “What if they don’t want me to tell people? Because of the reputation of the school. And stuff. What if they kick me out?” 

“They can’t do that,” Enjolras said immediately, utterly certain. 

“Says who?” Grantaire muttered. 

“The law,” Combeferre said simply. “It isn’t under your control. They’d have no grounds for expulsion. And besides, you know they wouldn’t.” 

Grantaire twisted his fingers until they started to ache, and bit down hard on his lower lip. “Okay,” he whispered. “I should…what? Tell McGonagall?” 

“And she can tell the rest of the staff,” Feuilly said. “No problem.” 

No problem at all. Grantaire nodded jerkily and looked up. “I should do it now, right?” 

“The sooner the better,” Combeferre told him. “We probably shouldn’t keep Bamatabois bound for too long.” 

“Would it really be a loss if we just let him starve to death?” Éponine muttered. 

“We could transfigure his body into a stick or something and just chuck it out a window,” Cosette added brightly, and Grantaire’s lips twitched in a nervous smile. 

“We’ll go with you if you want,” Enjolras said calmly. 

Grantaire swallowed. “I don’t need everyone.” 

“I’ll go with you.” Éponine stood up. “I know the password to McGonagall’s office.” 

“How do you know that?” Feuilly asked, surprised. She shrugged. 

“Javert took me there to explain to her why I jinxed Tholomyes and his little gang a couple of weeks ago. So unless she’s changed it since then, we should be able to walk right in.” She came over to Grantaire and looked at him expectantly. 

“Shouldn’t we ask permission first?” he asked weakly. 

“The sooner the better, right?” Éponine countered, jerking her head at the door. “Come on. This is the easy part.” 

She was right, of course. Telling McGonagall he wanted his condition to be made public knowledge was a piece of cake compared to the stares he started getting between the first and second period the next day. The announcements had obviously begun, and Grantaire hunched into himself as he walked, feeling the weight of the eyes on him like stones. It got worse as the day went on – by lunch time, people were whispering and pointing. He’d never been the centre of attention before, and he hated it. 

He would’ve skipped lunch if Bossuet hadn’t marched him determinedly to the Great Hall (“You can’t let them know they’re getting to you.”) and sat down with him at the table. Marius joined them, plopping down comfortably on Grantaire’s other side (where there was a great stretch of free space because no one wanted to sit next to a werewolf) and instantly started to chatter about the upcoming Quidditch game between the French and Canadian teams. 

“Just pretend everything’s normal,” he said determinedly between criticising the Canadians’ beating technique and gushing about their new Keeper. “Besides, it’s really only a few, if you look closely. Most of the Muggle-borns don’t know what the fuss is about.” 

That was true, at least, and Grantaire was glad of it. 

The first real conflict happened that evening as he came out of a study hall with Bahorel and Marius. Marius had managed to successfully distract him enough that it was a surprise when a younger student stepped in front of them and stared at Grantaire. “Are you the werewolf?” he asked loudly. 

Grantaire withdrew, taking half a step back, but in the expectant face of the other boy, he could only nod. “That’s me,” he added after a moment, horribly aware of every other student in the corridor staring at him. 

The boy retreated to a group of his friends, and Grantaire pushed down his discomfort and walked on. He hadn’t gone more than two steps before someone behind him – no telling who – made a disgusted sound. “I can’t believe they’re just letting it just walk around.” 

Bahorel turned, and Grantaire grabbed his arm quickly. “Don’t,” he muttered. “You’ll only get detention again.” 

“It’ll be worth it,” he snarled. 

“ _Don’t_ ,” Grantaire repeated, tightening his grip. _Don’t make a scene_ , he wanted to beg. _Don’t make a fuss. Don’t attract even more attention._  

Bahorel took a deep breath and let it out slowly through his nose, then nodded and turned around again. They kept walking, and Grantaire couldn’t help hearing some of the things people began to whisper as he passed. 

“…can tell, from the scar…” 

“…full moon’s in two days…” 

“…shouldn’t be allowed…” 

“…dangerous…” 

“…not a proper wizard…” 

“…don’t go near him…” 

“…they’re savage…” 

“…monster…” 

As they reached the end of the corridor, someone down the other end howled. A mocking, “A-woooooooo!” not meant to sound realistic. 

Grantaire quickened his pace and swallowed furiously, keeping his head ducked and his eyes on the ground. He wanted to crawl into bed and never come out, but to get there he had to walk through another dozen corridors where everyone seemed to only have eyes for him, and when he entered the common room with Marius it literally fell quiet. He wanted to hold his head high and pretend none of it bothered him, but it _did_ , and he wished more than anything else that he’d never been born. 

He didn’t go to supper. There was only so much he could handle in one day. He persuaded Marius and Bossuet to go without him and took advantage of the temporary solitude to cry into his pillow for a while, painfully aware that there was no going back now. He’d outed himself for good, and what he’d experienced today was only one day of what was going to be a lifetime of isolation and petty cruelty. 

Hiccupping slightly, he leaned over the edge of his bed and dragged a scrap of parchment and a self-inking quill out of his bag. His hand was shaking so much he almost put the nib through the parchment, but he managed to write _Marius_ in wobbly letters, followed by _Bossuet_ , and _Bahorel_ , and _Cosette_ , and the names of everyone else who had already known and didn’t care. He finished with _Enjolras_ , and let the quill drop from his fingers as he stared at the page and blinked back persistent tears. 

Twelve names. Twelve people, at least half of whom had figured out on their own that he was a werewolf and hadn’t turned on him at all. Hadn’t even hesitated to continue letting him hang around with them. Twelve students in Hogwarts who were actively involved in a society aimed at helping people like him. 

He scrubbed at his face with the sleeve of his robe and sat up, looking over at the other beds in the dorm. Of the six, two belonged to Marius and Bossuet. He was lucky, Grantaire realised. Incredibly lucky to have two of those twelve people close enough to act as a sort of barrier of normalcy. He’d come to Hogwarts utterly certain that he would never be able to have any truly close friends, and he’d managed to end up with several. 

It was a hell of a lot more than most werewolves got. What was it Enjolras had said? That if he pretended that none of it affected him, he’d be untouchable? 

He got up and went into the bathroom, washing his face and avoiding looking at his reflection. He could do this. One day at a time, he could do this. After all, he’d had plenty of practice acting like he was totally okay when he felt like he was falling apart. He could do this. He could do this. 

Maybe if he thought it enough times, he would start to believe it.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this, please consider [buying me a coffee!](https://ko-fi.com/A221HQ9) <3


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